


lost again with no surprises

by voodoochild



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: (this is a lie - bobby is not zen but he's great at faking it), Betrayal, Concussions, Episode Tag, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, Partnership, Sleeping Together, bobby is zen, but they should really look into this history-repeating thing, i am just very soft for these two, i hope they learn from their mistakes but i'm bracing for kyle's signature revenge bent, past adam/kyle referenced, please do not take my concussion protocol for anything approaching reality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:29:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29729745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voodoochild/pseuds/voodoochild
Summary: Kyle should have known better than to trust Adam. Bobby is not here to play the blame game. This isn't the first time they've been through this. [Set immediately after the 2/17/21 episode of NXT, but fudging the medical storyline.]
Relationships: Bobby Fish/Kyle O'Reilly
Comments: 9
Kudos: 13





	lost again with no surprises

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Taylor Swift and the National's "Coney Island", which I've had on repeat since _Evermore_ came out, and I knew I'd eventually use for a story title. The potential for Kyle-feels was too much.
> 
> Much love and thanks to Jen, who let me talk a bunch of this out with her and always prompts the thinkiest of thoughts.

After medical checks Kyle out and gives him the no-contact diagnosis, there are only a few scattered crewmembers and Hunter left in the place. 

And yeah, Hunter tries his best. He offers to call someone to drive Kyle, offers to call him an Uber, offers to give Kyle a ride himself, but Kyle turns him down. Hunter's quasipaternal impulses are normally pretty welcome, but right now, Kyle needs to just stew in his anger. He's not really good company, considering all that's in his head right now is a dull rage and endless imagining of all the different ways he could get revenge on Adam.

Fucking Adam, he should have known, it's all he can think of. He should have _known_ that nothing means more to Adam than gold - not brotherhood, not loyalty, not fifteen years of history. He should have remembered 2016 in Ring of Honor, 2014 in PWG, and he didn't. He let himself forget.

"Answer your goddamn phone, kid," comes the voice from above him.

Bobby stands there in sweats and a cardigan, glasses and those beat-up Jordans of his, achingly familiar. Kyle could cry. 

"Why are you here?" he asks instead, scrabbling at the wall to pull himself up. Doesn't want to touch anyone right now. "Did Hunter call you?"

"Roddy called me."

"That fucking *snake*," Kyle growls, breathing against the sharp round of nausea that sets in when he's upright. "He's got some fucking nerve-"

"He called me, Kyle. He's worried. Whatever else he is, whoever else he's got in his head, he's worried about you. He's right - what the fuck are you doing? Sitting on the ground barely 10 minutes after getting concussion-protocol'd, no plans to get home. Jesus, c'mon. Go get in the car."

He should be fighting Bobby's coddling, just like he fought Hunter's (and the medical staff, and Finn of all people, everyone giving him pitying looks). He should be ranting and raving about Adam, because if there's one person who'd understand, it's the man who was in the trenches with him last time. Every time.

But he can't, because it's Bobby. It's his partner, who takes care of him no questions asked. Everything about the drive home screams how perfectly they know each other, because Bobby doesn't make him talk. He turns on Dylan's Blonde on Blonde, skips to "Stuck Inside of Mobile..." and lets the music provide a white-noise drone around them. He doesn't speed and doesn't comment on everyone else's driving, throws an arm out the window and steers casually. Taps on the wheel along with the song, but doesn't do any of his usual teasing.

Kyle can't decide if he's furious or grateful. Maybe both.

***

Bobby drives them to Kyle's house, pulling up behind Kyle's car in the drive.

(Roddy had driven them to the arena. Still apologizing, but still a friend instead of a snake. Fuck, he might be more angry at Roddy than he admits.)

Kyle waits until he lets them both in and drops his gear bag on the floor to explode. "Okay, let's fucking have it. Fucking yell at me, tell me I should have known better, that you fucking told me so when we got that call in Chicago."

"Why do you want me to yell at you?" Bobby asks, kicking off his shoes and sitting in one of Kyle's mismatched green armchairs. It's the more comfortable one, the one Bobby usually takes over Adam and Roddy's bickering. He crosses his legs and looks at Kyle. "What good is that gonna do?"

"Because it's true! I should have known Adam was - was gonna be Adam! Was gonna hurt me the first chance he got because I was getting more attention than him."

"He didn't do shit when you got those title shots," Bobby points out. "He wouldn't shut up about how proud he was of you. What were you supposed to think - that it was all an act? You know he's not that good of an actor."

"Apparently he was-"

"Kyle," Bobby says. Soft and placating and it grates on him, but it's Bobby. "Kyle, babe, listen to me. Do you remember the last time we did this? Where you made me listen to you obsessing over how you should have seen Adam's betrayal coming, where I had to fucking watch Lethal take you apart because you wouldn't listen to the doctors? We are not doing that."

Kyle slams his fist into a side table, sending it clattering against the wall. "What is this 'we' bullshit, Bobby? Adam didn't kick you in the face, he didn't leave you on your back unable to feel your fucking arms after the world's worst attempt at a brainbuster-"

Bobby's on his feet and he's inside Kyle's guard, pushing him suddenly into the wall. Bobby doesn't let his head hit or anything, but he holds him perfectly still, leg hooked, one hand laced with Kyle's and the other behind Kyle's head. His eyes are vicious-blue, dark enough to cut, and he leans up to press his mouth to Kyle's ear.

"We. Me and you. I'm still with you. Unless you're burning this bridge too."

"No." Kyle feels the rage burning acid-sick in his veins, but he would never loose it against Bobby. "No. Bobby, no."

Voice softening, Bobby continues to pin him to the wall. "Okay. Do you see why he waited until now?"

Kyle runs through all the possibilities. Becoming allies with Finn, the man who'd taken Adam's title. Kyle's title shots and attention. Adam and Roddy's loss at the Dusty. Back further, to the loss of all the gold and . . .

"Fuck," Kyle says, and Bobby huffs out a laugh, nodding. "He waited for you to go out with that freak fucking triceps tear. It was you."

Bobby's mouth, touching his forehead. So incredibly gentle and sweet, the familiar brush of beard against Kyle's ear.

"Yeah. Because if I had been there on Sunday, I would have chased him through the arena and into the parking lot and beaten him senseless. He would never have had the opportunity at that brainbuster tonight."

"You can't fight all my battles. You never could."

Bobby eases up on the hold, strokes his thumb gently across Kyle's wrist. "It's me and you, so I would've tried."

***

It's much later, after they've both dosed themselves with their respective painkillers, changed into sleep clothes, and set the concussion-protocol alarm that they haven't needed in a while, that Kyle finally curls himself into Bobby's chest and lets the anger and regret and guilt and wash over him. He buries his nose in the scent of Bobby's laundry detergent and body wash and thinks about every second chance he ever gave Adam Cole.

He realizes, with the light touch of Bobby's hand between his shoulderblades, that he's crying.

"It's worse than the other times," he sniffs, trying desperately to scrub at his eyes. "Why is it fucking worse?"

Bobby sighs, his chest rising and falling. Probably trying to decide how nice Kyle wants him to be. Because Bobby can be the sweetest, sometimes, tell Kyle how important and great and special he is, and other times, Kyle needs Bobby to be blunt and angry and honest. 

"You trusted him more. Future Shock was kid stuff, it was growing pains and trying to prove yourselves. And the other times - that was choosing a whole faction over you, the Kingdom or Bullet Club or Rushmore. But this time, it was pure greed, and he threw everything we built away. Our whole brotherhood meant nothing because he needs to have that belt."

"I was gonna forgive him."

"Yeah. I probably would have done the same. We fight, that's what we do. We say stupid shit to each other and we get paranoid, but he _chose_ to target you twice. This is about hurting you again, the same way he swore up and down he'd never do, and I can't forgive him for that."

And Kyle doesn't have to say it, doesn't have to remind Bobby of how long he's loved Adam Cole. That throughout his career, he'd never been able to shake the idea that he and Adam would end up back on the same side, because that had been the entire reason he considered Adam's proposal to form the Era. This was supposed to be the time that Adam stayed, trusted him, supported him the way Kyle and the others supported Adam himself.

"I'm sorry-"

Bobby shifts him carefully, enough to brush Kyle's hair back and look him in the eye. "What're you sorry for, babe?"

"I dragged you back into our bullshit. Who does that? Who keeps constantly torturing someone by being, you know, committed, but running back to his ex?"

"You didn't drag me anywhere. I chose to stay with you in Ring of Honor. I chose to stay with you in Japan. I chose to sign with NXT and team with you. And I can hear that Pikachu joke you're about to make, don't make me smack you, you're concussed."

Kyle laughs weakly, lays gingerly back down on Bobby's chest. "I won't, then. But I'm still annoyed you're being so wise and understanding. You're fucking zen, how much lidocaine are you on?"

"Just a patch," Bobby answers, tapping the jagged scar on his triceps he still keeps wrapped. "Gotta heal up so I can punch Adam's head off his shoulders. I can be zen until then."

"I'm not gonna be able to be zen," Kyle says, and he knows to expect Bobby's wry snort of laughter, but it still irks him. He's all exposed-nerve rage, still wants to get up and put on workout tights and punch a heavy bag until he bleeds. "I've never been able to understand how you do it, turn it off and on, like there's an actual switch-"

Bobby rests his hand on Kyle's neck, careful as he needs to be with a concussion, but still enough pressure to feel it. It's their signal, if he's too hype before a match or rattled during a match or still swinging afterward, it's Bobby telling him he needs to *stop*. Breathe. 

It doesn't mean "don't be angry", just that anger will not serve right now, and that's something he does understand. 

Sometimes there is no counter, and you have to tap.

***

"... I hate him so much," Kyle says, when he can form words. Not that they're new words. "I don't want to do this again."

"I know."

"When I'm cleared, I'm gonna go after him."

Bobby's fingers stroke aimless little patterns down his neck, across his shoulders. He's not fooling anyone, it's checking Kyle out with his own hands, feeling the swelling along his shoulder where he hit the post, the scratches the steps left on his back.

"Do you want me to disagree with you?" Bobby asks. "Because I'm pretty sure you can make up your own mind and you don't need me to talk you into or out of anything."

"I don't know what I want. Other than to rip Adam apart."

Bobby's only response is a quiet "okay" and a stroke of his thumb across Kyle's tattoo. Because it is what it is: Kyle is so incredibly angry and can't do anything about it, Bobby is trying to channel his anger and also can't do anything about it. This is the worst part of - of the whole thing, really. Of round six hundred and twelve of Adam's betrayal. The endless cycle of "when will he turn on me?" and "why did he turn on me?" that leaves Kyle feeling like he's had his chest torn open and his heart left exposed.

Lost in thought, Kyle stays awake until the two-hour alarm, almost without realizing it. When his phone trills, Kyle only registers it because Bobby startles under him. Yawning, Bobby dismisses the alarm, sets it on the table, and looks over at Kyle.

"You've been up," he says knowingly. His hands are so careful on Kyle's forehead and jaw, tilting his head back and forth to check his eyes. Snaps a couple times to watch Kyle's reaction time, then settles back down, tugging Kyle by the wrist. "Stop. You let him have enough of you as it is. I want this. I want you to fall asleep in my arms and trust me to take care of you."

"... I trust you," Kyle says. His voice is small, cracked. "You know that."

"I can't stand in your corner yet. I can't have your back against Adam. We're both stuck waiting to heal, and that's not going to happen unless you sleep, Ky."

"I wish I could."

If he were healthy, he could go a few rounds with the heavy bag in the basement. He could unroll his yoga mat and twist himself into knots until all he cared about was his breathing. He could even go running, even though he hates it and normally has to be bribed into runs with coffee and no-sugar doughnuts. Exercise turns his brain off, and it will put him right out. The only thing better is sex, and that's not happening until he's medically cleared either.

Bobby's hands sliding up his back under his shirt startles him, making him wonder if Bobby's going to ignore the concussion order, but Bobby would never do that. Kyle stays quiet as Bobby skims Kyle's shirt off, then grabs the neck of his own tee shirt and pulls it over his head. 

(Fucking concussion protocol. Jesus, Bobby looks good enough to eat, and Kyle *can't*.)

"You can ogle me later," Bobby quips. He reaches out for Kyle, lays them out skin-to-skin in a gorgeous press of firm muscle and heat. His feet tuck under Kyle's knees, and Kyle wraps his arms around Bobby's chest. "C'mon, babe, I've got you. Longer you stay up, longer that head injury's going to affect you. Besides, we're an hour forty away from another check-in."

Kyle nods, already feeling his eyelids fluttering closed. His body feels heavy, exhausted, the pressure behind his eyes lessening as he relaxes and keeps his eyes shut. It's always like this, he's too keyed-up and stressed to sleep . . . unless he's with Bobby. The skin contact is helping so much, it makes him feel warm and safe and loved, something that Adam in his trendy-ass apartment with his gaming equipment and that bed with the silk sheets doesn't have.

One step at a time, if it takes days or weeks or months, Kyle's going to recover. And then he'll deal with Adam Cole.


End file.
